Bittersweet Memories
by FadingWinter
Summary: Saetan and Tersa's time together until Daemon is born. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Saetan signed off yet another letter as the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, and sealed it. The Queens in his territory were regularly in contact with him. It wasn't that general updates regarding the land and people he cared about were uninteresting; he was simply more anxious for news of another kind. But he finished his duties nonetheless, and stood to warm a glass of Yarbarah after completing the final letter.

_What could be taking him this long... _Saetan thought to himself as he sipped the blood wine. The clock chimed on. Beale came and went, having had his offer of refreshments declined and having been dismissed for the night.

At long last, Saetan looked up from the fireplace to see Andulvar walking into the room tentatively. His wings were drawn towards his body tighter than usual.

"High Lord."

The formal acknowledgement, especially of one of his lesser known and more intimidating titles as High Lord of Hell, surprised Saetan somewhat but if this made it any easier for Andulvar to say whatever he was so reluctant to say, then he'd oblige.

"Prince Yaslana."

Andulvar cleared his throat, the Ebon-Gray jewel on around his neck glittering. "I have, as you requested, visited every unmarried dark-jeweled female in Hayll and Dhemlan who... we considered acceptable," he said delicately. The unsaid words hung between them_. Those who aren't influenced by or related to Hekatah or her family._

Saetan was growing increasingly impatient with his good friends wavering, but nothing of his outward demeanor indicated this. He listened with a politely interested expression.

"And?"

Andulvar shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Well, they were all quite eager at first, and listened and excepted the decision, happy to know the pregnancy would pass with full protection and generous funds, and that they were always welcome to see the child when they wished. Every point suited nearly every woman I went to."

Saetan waited patiently to hear what he was actually trying to say, though there was a growing dread in him.

"So, ah... all was well. Until I... well, they asked, ofcourse, and when I told- "

"They went back on their decision when you told them the child was to be sired by myself," Saetan finished for him, softly. Andulvar closed his mouth and nodded once. "I see," continued Saetan in that soft tone which always frightened Andulvar more than if he had been shouting in rage. "Thank you, Andulvar. Goodnight." Saetan sat down behind is desk and gazed unseeing into the fire.

Andulvar turned to leave, then remembered one more thing. He had dismissed it, thinking he wouldn't even mention in to the High Lord, but in that split second changed his mind.

"Saetan," he began quietly. Saetan looked up from the flames. "There is... one other woman. A strong, far-seeing young Dhemlan witch who wears the Red. Or at least, she used to. She's... broken." Andulvar took a step closer. He had been shaken after the meeting with that woman more than he'd like to admit. "There's power here, Saetan. She... she must have been quite exceptional, she... " Andulvar grit his teeth and rested a fist on the wall. "Such a ridiculous waste... the bastards..." Saetan heard him murmur under his breath. Then Andulvar straightened and looked at him. "She kept saying something about seeing it in her web. She didn't react coldly when I told her who you are. She agreed... to everything."

Saetan straightened his shoulders and stood up. "Then she will be the mother of my heir. Make the necessary arrangements."

He walked up to Andulvar and rested a hand on his shoulder as thanks, and saw him out the door. He turned back before Andulvar could take off into the air in the direction of his Eyrie.

"What is her name?"

"Tersa."


	2. Chapter 2

The carriage rattled down the path, approaching the gates of SaDiablo Hall. Tersa was calm and collected as she looked out the window and towards the steadily approaching building. The web of visions didn't lie. They couldn't. She had seen it. This was something that had been looming, coming ever closer, and she had grasped it just before that future would have slipped away. She had hesitated at first, knowing the sorrows that would come long after, but the web doesn't lie. _Happiness and hope were small but strong threads woven into the web too._

The carriage jerked, bringing her out of her tangled thoughts. For months now she hadn't returned to that thin border of the Twisted Kingdom. There was purpose now. There was no time to falter like she had faltered so many times ever since...

She closed her eyes. The physical wounds had long faded, but the wound of losing the use of her Red jewels was still fresh. _Musn't think of that now, remember the web of visions..._

"Lady?"

Tersa opened her eyes and blinked in the sunlight coming throught the open carriage door. An Ebon-grey jeweled Eyrien warrior stood waiting, his posture and stance proud, but his eyes warm and worried.

"You may not recall, but I am-"

"Prince Yaslana," Tersa finished softly. "You were the one who had come for me, as I knew you would."

His eyes hurriedly left her face and a look was exchanged between him and a butler standing at the large doors of the Hall. He stretched his wings delicately and cleared his throat.

"Ah- yes, well... if you would follow me, please, Lady, I will escort you to your rooms. You must be tired from your journey."

Tersa stepped out of the carriage and followed him through the large doors and into the blissfully cool darkness of the entrance hall. "It wasn't a long journey," she answered in a distracted voice. Her mind was registering details of her surroundings, details which had been hard to capture when seen as a vision. The details were exquisite, dark, and strong rather than overly intricate. _Like _him,_ whom I have yet to meet_, she thought.

Prince Yaslana sent her sideways, worried looks at regular intervals as they walked.

"Don't be alarmed, Warlord," Tersa answered softly, now studying the gardens visible beyond the large windows. "Long it has been since I looked upon the gates of the Twisted Kingdom."

The Eyrien Prince cleared his throat and adopted an expression of slightly offended bafflement. "Lady, I-I was in no way trying to suggest otherwise-"

He was cut short as the butler carrying her bags indicated that she was to have the main guest room as her own private rooms. They walked up the stairs in silence, and entered a spacious room with heavy dark green drapes and velvet furniture. There was an ornate door that led to a large bathroom, and another, simpler door of rich wood which was locked. Tersa guessed it connected this room with... his.There was no bed.

Her bags were set down and the butler left, leaving Prince Yaslana hovering tentatively.

"The High Lord will probably be arriving in an hour or so, he had urgent buisness to see to," he backed towards the door. "Please let Beale know if you need anything." he nodded in the direction of the butler's departure. "Dinner will be served an hour after sunset. The High Lord wishes me to tell you he'd very much appreciate your presence- but understands if you'd rather rest and have dinner sent to your room." He cleared his throat and edged out the door, folding his wings tight..

Tersa wanted more answers about the man, but instead looked around the candle lit room. The only window was curtained, but obviously large. There was a long, soft couch which would be comfortable to lay down on. As she neared it, she noticed there were three dresses laid out. One was sapphire-coloured and simply cut, but of good quality. Another was heavy blood-red velvet, with warm fur within. The last was delicate black spidersilk. The corners where jewels would usually be embroidered were instead adorned with complex knots, heavy in symbolism. As a Black Widow, she recognized knots for well-being, protection, and fertility. The largest and most intricately beautiful knot of all, which would fall at her throat once the dress was put on, was one for hope.

She moved them to a chair tenderly, and lay down, brushing her hair away from her face and resting her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Saetan dropped from the Green winds and entered the carriage waiting for him. As it rattled down the short distance to SaDiablo hall, he wringed his hands and adjusted the black ring on his finger over and over again. He was anxious to meet this woman who had agreed to bear his heir, who hadn't turned back when she found out who he was.

Finally, they slowed to a halt. Saetan flung open the door and purposefully strode through the entrance before Beale had a chance to reach for the carriage door's handle. "Andulvar!" Saetan roared, while entering his study and throwing off his cape.

There was an irritated grumble and the Warlord strode in, agitatedly stretching his wings. "You _bellowed_, Saetan?" He leaned against the wall and folded his arms in a way only a typically cocky Eyrien could under the glare Saetan was throwing him.

"I see you found it beneath you to let me know by some means that the woman had arrived earlier than expected? So instead of simply rescheduling my meeting with the Territory Queens of Dhemlan, I had to run out of there early to be here in time to dine with my guest?"

Andulvar sighed. "She looked tired, so I assumed she would request her dinner to eat in her room privately. How could I know she'd be up and ready to meet you in 2 hours? And so I didn't send a messenger to tell you to get yourself down here."

Saetan took off his jacket and donned a new one as fast he could while muttering all the Eyrien curses he knew.

Andulvar's smile widened with each. "So are you going to stand there and display your colourful language or go and meet your _Lady_?"

"You know there will be no marriage, Andulvar."

"I know, and so does she. Seemed right to put it that way, though," Andulvar raised his eyebrows. "I'll be having dinner down at my eyrie. See you in the morning. Oh and... best of luck." With a slight smirk on his face, he ducked through the door the moment Saetan's black jewel crackled with power.

Muttering, Saetan straightened and walked to the dining room. But curiosity overcame his annoyance as he turned the last corner and approached the door of the room.

She was standing at the window, looking out into the late twilight. But her eyes seemed to be looking beyond the dusk sky. She had the same colouring as any other Dhemlan witch- her skin tan and smooth, her hair raven black, and her eyes gold, but almost an ancient gold. She wasn't beautiful in the conventional sense- but Saetan had to admit she did posses beauty, just a somewhat different, morose one. She turned to face him and Saetan inclined his head with a small smile.

Her eyes remained unchanged for a moment, but then they softened and her mouth relaxed to return the smile. "High Lord."

Saetan gestured to a chair at the lightly laden dinner table. "Saetan," he corrected.

Tersa's smile turned almost shy, but Saetan noticed how the beautifully melancholy air of her remained.

As Beale entered to pour two glasses of sweet wine, Saetan cleared his throat. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting very long, I was misinformed of your arrival..."

"That is alright... Saetan," she said. Saetan liked the way she said his name, it seemed demure at first but had underlying curiousity. "I know you were busy with issues in Dhemlan. The Queens have been a bit demanding these past few months, haven't they?"

Saetan coughed slightly. "Indeed. I assume you know some of them, then?"

"No," Tersa answered simply, chewing slowly. Saetan waited patiently. "One can sense the tension sometimes, I suppose. Perhaps you may not fully feel it, as your jewel rank is so much above theirs, though." She looked down at her plate and swallowed with a little difficulty. "It was hard for me to sense and not dismiss the phsycic undertones of those with much lighter jewels, before they... before I..." her voice trailed away and she once more engaged herself in the food.

Saetan steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them, watching her. "If I could find and extract the debt of whoever stripped you of the Red, I would in a heartbeat," Saetan said gently. "I do, after all, have another title which is perhaps the least known, and it's perhaps best that it remains so."

Tersa met his eyes with her own. He could see that it wasn't fully gold as his own were, but had a ring of warm brown. "I accepted this offer knowing much about you. More than you give me credit for... Executioner."

Saetan straightened; Tersa didn't break eye contact. There was a slight tension in the air. Saetan realised he really didn't know enough about this woman at all.

Acknowledging her words with a slight inclination of his head, he reached for some fruit which had been brought in a fine bowl. When he looked up at her again, her previous calculated calm had been placed with that soft, vulnerably melancholy air again. She looked a little confused but seemed to gather her bearings, and reached for a desert.

Saetan held the vine of grapes thoughtfully. Andulvar had mentioned that sometimes she... came and went, somewhat, like this. One moment, a hint, a shadow of the formidable witch she must have been, then a return to her usual, distant state. Saetan once again felt a surge of anger for those responsible for reducing the former to the latter. But all he could do now was help her be comfortable with him.

She seemed comfortable enough when Saetan suggested the take their glasses to his study, and she seemed relatively content as they talked in the warmth of the large fire.

As the fire dimmed, Saetan leaned back and just watched her. The dying embers gave her face a soft glow. It made her almost look ethereal, but the colour added warmth to it. She looked up at his face, and there was a mutual understanding in her eyes. Saetan got up, and took her up to his bedroom.

The fire in here was dying too, as they had lost track of time as they talked. He had listened more, though. She had spoken of many things, both those insignificant and some that fascinated him, fascinated him regarding her very unique but refreshingly honest perspective of the world.

The room was warm, though the dark draperies and paintings made it look a little distinctly masculine. Tersa disappeared through the door which connected this bedroom with the room given to her to fetch her nightgown.

Saetan rekindled the fire a little, then removed his jacket, leaving the silk shirt. Walking over to a window, her pulled back the drapery and gazed outside. His room was a farthermost corner of SaDiablo Hall, and looked at hills and lands unenclosed in the Hall's territory. He liked to look in this direction, where a few small villages could be seen as little webs of light in the darkness.

He stood watching a while, then closed the drapery and sat on the bed. What could be taking her this long? Concern filled him as he walked towards the door and knocked, not getting an answer.

He walked in quietly, and saw Tersa sitting on the edge of the couch. She seemed not to notice him- maybe she really hadn't. She was staring at nothing and tears were pouring down her face.

Saetan hurriedly kneeled at her feet and held her face in his hands. "Tersa? What's the matter? _Tersa!"_ Only then did her tear-filled eyes pull themselves away from some non-existential spot in the distance to meet Saetan's. Her lips moved softly. "I- I'm sorry, I-"

Saetan pulled her into his arms, whispering soothingly. He carried her back through the doorway and into his bedroom, setting her on the bed. She had only half put on a nightdress; it had fallen off her shoulder to expose her breasts, and she was shivering.

Saetan helped her arm through the sleeve, and buttoned it up. "Shh. Just rest. You've had a long day," he breathed, then stood up to add more kindling to the fire. Tersa was still shivering. When it was warm enough, Saetan approached her and tried to help her lie back, but could see at once her body was too tense to relax. He frowned, then approached the night stand on her side of the bed. Bits and pieces a woman may need nearby had been arranged in the drawers earlier. He opened one and took out a hairbrush.

Saetan got into bed, and pulled the covers up to their waists. Then, ever so gently, her helped her rest against him, and he slowly brushed her long, dark hair. It was wild and unpredictable, and he'd find stubborn knots or unexpectedly sleek and soft places. _Somewhat like her_, he thought. He could feel her putting more and more weight against him, and she slowly relaxed.

He set the brush aside and gently laid her down, then pulled the covers higher up. She stopped shivering, and opened her eyes blearily. "Saetan, I..."

Saetan stroke a strand of her off her face. "What you need now is a good night's sleep." When she tried to force her mouth to explain once again, Saetan rested a finger on them to silence her. She closed them then, and wearily closed her eyes too.

He traced her lips softly, then made sure the covers were warm around her. Only then did he allow himself to wearily rest too.


	4. Chapter 4

Tersa idly walked in the chilly evening air. It was quiet and secluded in this part of the Hall's gardens, which was a refreshing change from the way the day had passed. Saetan had to entertain some guests from Hayll, and he was still in one of the spacious sitting rooms, discussing things of little importance to Tersa. Saetan had assured her she didn't need to sit through anything she didn't want to, but Tersa hadn't seen many Hayllians and had sat with Saetan through a formal lunch and a discussion or two afterwards.

They had asked her some questions out of politeness, but nearly each time Tersa had been too lost in her own thoughts to hear, the guests had whispered about her with raised eyebrows increasingly more often, and Saetan's infamous anger and protectiveness had danced on a knife's edge. Ever since her first night here, a week before exactly, his uncertainty when around her had changed to concern, and a sharpness so cold to those who belittled her that he frightened her a little; though Tersa would never let him know this. The lingering traces of the pride she used to have prevented her from that.

She leaned down to free a flower of some weeds. Bringing her earthy fingers to her nose, she inhaled the crisp smell and turned around, heading back inside to the warmth. She figured she'd stay in one of the libraries for a while.

Suddenly, Tersa heard a bang of a door on other side of the garden and spun around to see. Saetan walked out in furious strides, almost crashing into the rose bushes. Running his hands through his hair agitatedly, he looked up and saw her. Tersa walked up to him tentatively, smiling sympathetically. "They're quite narrow-minded, aren't they?"

Saetan exhaled heavily, the air just cold enough the make his breath foggy. "I knew they had come to negotiate about Dhemlan and Hayll's trade, but whether they stick to the point is debatable." He rubbed his temples. "And it didn't help that the lady would ever so often ask whether you were to join us, or whether I could also tell you were a Black Widow, or whether you had any family, or- " he sighed.

Tersa softly rested a hand on his. He seemed to calm at the touch. "And what did you tell them?" she asked.

"That you would join us whenever you saw fit, whether she was visually impaired or just chose not to acknowledge that I am a Black Widow too, and that since I myself never questioned your past neither should she."

Tersa laughed softly. "If you said that with the same look in your eyes as you have now, I'm surprised they haven't ran away."

Saetan's face relaxed a little and he cleared his throat. "Well, it's almost dinnertime. Allow me to escort you, unless you would you like to stay in the garden a while longer?"

Tersa tentatively put her arm through his. "It's a little chilly. I'll come with you."

They walked back inside, up until the door to Saetan's private study. He stopped in front of it and faced her.

"What is it?" Tersa asked.

Saetan smiled slightly. "Thank you." He trailed a hand down her cheek to rest under her chin. Tersa closed her eyes.

She had heard, among the more elaborately fake and frightening rumours about the High Lord, that he had been Consort to the last Witch, and that he was an exquisite lover. If he did possess the sexual intensity people said he did, then Saetan certainly hid it well. They hadn't slept together yet, as Saetan had insisted she had a week to rest and get more comfortable here. But it was times like these, when there would be an insignificant, innocent touch, where she would _almost_ feel... feel... like she was that desirable and strong Red-jeweled witch again.

But Tersa often told herself it didn't mean anything. Ofcourse he would think of her in a sexual manner- her sole purpose here was to ensure all that led to fruitition. Besides, the her webs showed nothing else for them. Nothing.

"Unfortunately, it's yet another formal dinner, but at least they'll return to Hayll tomorrow morning," Saetan whispered, pulling Tersa out of her reverie.

"It's alright," she answered softly. Then she reluctantly stepped back and Saetan withdrew his hand. "I'll be down soon," she said, going up the stairs to her room.

Saetan gazed after her and headed down to find his guests.

-

Saetan sighed inwardly for what felt like the tenth time during the course of the appetizers. He had expected the Hayllian members of an esteemed court would be somewhat inconsiderate of concerns outside their immidiate interest, but to see how blatantly ignorant they were on some issues was just trying his patience too much.

The door opened, and Saetan looked up gratefully at the interruption of the incessant complaints. Tersa walked in, her dark hair up in a bun that still managed to retain some unpredictability. Saetan's gaze lingered on the way one of the simpler dresses he had servants buy for her hugged her body. She was quite thin when she had first arrived, but now he liked that the dress fit around a frame getting curvier with good meals. She caught his eye momentarily as she sat down next to him, and he noticed she looked more subdued and melancholy than she had been in the garden.

The guests' eyebrows lifted at her late, discourteous arrival and Saetan could tell they found it rude she hadn't apologised for it. His patience thinned further. They didn't know her and had no right to throw those silent, judging looks. Tersa noticed this, he could tell, and reached for the pitcher of wine and poured herself a large glass, taking a sip. The Hayllian lady sniffed in distaste.

Saetan fingered the birthright red-jeweled ring on his finger. Even though he didn't wear his black on regular days, even his birthright was well above the guests', and the husband rested a hand lightly on his wife's hand as a plea to just continue with dinner. She looked back down at her plate reluctantly, her lips still pursed. Saetan's mouth curled unamusedly. Very well then, let her think she can get away with subtle insults to a guest of the High Lord's.

"I have arranged a carriage early tomorrow morning, so you can get a head start back to Draega," Saetan said, not bothering to hide the distaste in his voice.

The husband nodded. "We appreciate it." His wife diguised what could have been a 'hmph' as a cough.

Saetan's gold eyes narrowed. Tersa rested a small, warm hand on his. The gesture calmed him, and they continued eating in silence for a while.

The Hayllian woman finally unpursed her lips long enough to make an attempt at conversation. "Are you involved in any of the charities going on in Amdarh, Lady Tersa? I hear they are raising plenty for a local orphanage for young witches with potential."

Tersa looked up, surprised to have the attention of everyone at the table. "No," she put simply, and continued with her meal. The woman lifted an eyebrow. Tersa could sense the tension, but it had been too long since she had attended a court dinner, so she clumsily tried again. "Well I- I haven't had the opportunity yet, but I'd... I'd like to help, when I get the chance."

The woman pursed her lips once more. "Yes, I'm sure chances of free time are _very_ hard to come by, in the circumstances." The sarcasm in her voice couldn't have gotten any less subtle.

Tersa didn't react but simply refilled her glass of wine. Saetan, however, was on the brink of losing his temper. "And what circumstances may those be?" he asked, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Tersa looked up at him, mouthing 'please' silently. But Saetan ignored it, and turned once more to the woman. "Yes?"

She looked baffled for a moment, then regained her haughty air. "High Lord, I was only commenting upon the fact that since she is... well, _responsible for your contentment_, she would have to be... near at hand," she finished delicately.

Saetan raised an eyebrow. His eyes looked almost black with suppressed rage in the candlelight. "I see. Are you implying that she is a pleasure slave, _lady?"_

"I was merely expressing my-"

Saetan slammed his fork down, causing everyone to jump. "Enough," Saetan said in a voice dangerously soft.

There was utter silence.

"So long as you are in my household, you shall not direct your petty disdain and judgements towards anyone," Saetan said, his voice changing to ice.

No one moved or spoke. The couple paled. Saetan rose in one agile movement and left the room.

Tersa looked down at her plate, then dropped her napkin and pushed her chair back. The lady looked like she was still trying to hold on to some final thread of defiance, but fear overrode this easily, and the couple hurriedly left in the direction of their room.

Tersa walked out the room after Saetan without so much as a second glance. These short-sighted Hayllians insulting her meant nothing, but obviously it did mean something to Saetan.

She knocked on the heavy blackwood door of his study, but when no answer came, pushed it open slightly. The fire was burning, but it was empty. Usually, he always took refuge in his study, she had learned that about him. He'd pour himself some Yarbarah and lose himself in a book, or gaze at the fire in contemplation.

Tersa walked up to the corridor and gazed out the window onto the dark courtyard. That was empty too. Not knowing where else to look, and too tired to explore, she made her way up to their bedroom. Saetan's anger was a bit of a legend, and she had often heard tales of how, blinded by cold rage, the High Lord had wiped out an entire population of people, along with their country and whatever culture that derived from them. Tersa could tell he had unhealed scars beneath the occasional cold cruelty. And she had seen enough to know he would never stop having regrets. Distractions would come though, certainly, and... her. The daughter of his soul. She would come, in his lifetime. He would heal somewhat. Tersa was sure of it. And in her own lifetime, if she was... here... to witness it. And not just here in the physical sense.

Her foot caught on the last few stairs and she stumbled, but caught her balance by leaning on the wall. She never liked looking at what would befall herself in her webs. That was not her webs' purpose. She had always believed they shouldn't be reduced to petty things to tell one's future. They were many-layered, delicate, powerful... full of both beautiful and terrible subtleties...

As she pushed open the bedroom door, her thoughts were cut short. The light was dim; the fire had almost burned out. Saetan sat on her side of the bed, holding in his hand her comb and gazing at the dying embers.

Tersa shut the door silently and took off her shoes, and started untying the tight laces of the dress' corset. It felt too restricting now. Suffocating. Not a reminder of how it had felt to be strong and desirable as when she had first put it on, but a mockery of how she yearned for the Tersa she'd never be. _He doesn't need your self-pity. He needs your reassurance. _She told herself. The laces finally came undone, and she slipped off the dress, breathing easy in the simple, loose undergarment.

"Do you feel that way?" Saetan asked unexpectedly. His gaze didn't shift at all, and he barely blinked. Tersa could see the reflection of the embers in the eyes which were a dark, dark gold now.

She walked up to the bed and loosened her hair from the bun. She moved her face so it was right between him and the point he was staring at. Reluctantly, his eyes met hers. "Like a-"

"No, I don't," Tersa answered. "I don't at all, Saetan. I know exactly what my place is here. And I know it isn't the position of pleasure slave." With that, she rested a hand on his for a moment, then stood to rekindle the fire.


	5. Chapter 5

Saetan gazed out the windows of his study. Blood red sunlight was pouring in weakly, the very last traces of what had been an unimpressive sunset. As the final rays dimmed and twilight creeped in, he turned away and sat in one of the low comfortable couches, resting his head in his hand. The day had been slow, and it hadn't helped that he had been, and still was, oddly restless.

Sighing, he stood up once again and left the room, thinking of finding Andulvar. No doubt the Eyrien warlord would decide the solution lay in some good old Eyrien training, which roughly translated into physical exertion in the extreme. Saetan chuckled to himself. Now that would undoubtedly put an end to his restless state. But there was still something nagging him at the back of his mind, reminding him of the likeliest reason he was in such a state; he hadn't seen Tersa all day. He knew she worked in the garden or read as he took care of official, and some not so, buisness during the day- but she would always turn up to have a drink with him, or tell him about the book she finished. There were times when she was almost like a vulnerable girl-child, taking comfort in the familiar, but these was far and few, thank the Darkness. Those moments worried Saetan, and angered him for past injustice done. But mostly she was as he knew her; understanding, wise, caring, strong.

Saetan walked out of SaDiablo hall and caught the opal wind to Andulvar's Eyrie. He was about to knock on the door and let himself in when he stopped to the sound of female laughter coming from inside. It was crisp and melodious, and Saetan stiffened as he recognised it as Tersa's. He could hear Andulvar's lower voice over hers, and judging from his tone, he was re-telling a story Tersa was obviously finding amusing.

Silently, he turned the knob of the door and opened it an inch. Tersa was sitting in a comfortable armchair with her legs crossed, resting a bowl of fruit on her lap. She took a bite of the plum in her hand and laughed again. Andulvar didn't seem to hear Saetan open the door, as he continued his tale with hand and wing gestures, sitting in an armchair opposite.

"Ah, SaDiablo, come in! We were just talking about you..." Andulvar said to Saetan, without so much as a glance in his direction. Saetan scowled. Damn Warlords' acute hearing. Tersa looked up and smiled, resting a hand on the chair beside her to indicate he should sit down. Saetan straightened and took the seat, noting Andulvar's expression of amusement with disdain.

"As intrigued as I am, please spare what you find about me so amusing," Saetan answered dryly.

Andulvar's smile widened, and he poured Saetan a glass of Yarbarah. Readjusting his wings and leaning back, he adopted an expression of innocent nonchalance.

"Come now, that wouldn't be very hospitable, would it?"

Saetan snatched the glass of blood wine off the table irritatedly. Tersa's gaze wandered from Andulvar's barely concealed glee to Saetan's disgruntled manner, and she tried to hold back another laugh.

"As I was saying, darling," Andulvar continued, grinning, "he walked forward, all collected and ever-abiding by protocol... at this point all eyes were on him, as these were the ceremony's most important moments... he got nearer Cassandra's throne, respectful yet still imposing, you know how Saetan is..."

Saetan cleared his throat loudly. "I'd appreciate it if you stopped referring to me as if I was absent, Andulvar. I'm sitting right here."

Andulvar's grin widened and he ignored him. "So yes, he knelt, and his cloak- heavy fabric that was, mind you, he could have knocked someone senseless if he swung it back- just rips from one corner to the other..." his wings shook as he laughed, the memory obviously still vivid in his mind, "the sound! Echoed throughout the hall, a ridiculously loud ripping sound. He had stepped on a corner, and when he knelt the fabric had torn under the pressure. But what a tear! The whole thing hung loose, only attached to the collar by a measly thread or two. Saetan didn't move at all, did you SaDiablo? Just kept on with the procedure as if nothing happened. Even Cassandra had had a hard time keeping her face straight! What an entrance for the Consort- "

His story was cut off with the sound of Saetan coughing and spluttering into the wine. Tersa let out another melodious laugh. "Oh Warlord... you have a gift for storytelling. Although that is one incident I have difficulty imagining," she said, smiling.

Saetan snarled softly. "I don't hear you re-telling any of your embarrassing little incidents, Andulvar. If I remember correctly, they far surpassed mine in every way."

Andulvar smiled arrogantly. "But of course they did. Although Cassandra certainly wasn't laughing the next morning. In fact, if I recall, she looked quite dazed..."

Saetan cleared his throat loudly. Andulvar frowned in his direction. _She is stronger than you realise, you know. She won't flinch away at the slightest mention of anything sexual,_ he sent on an Ebon-Grey thread.

Saetan's expression was coolly distanced as he placed his empty glass back on the table. _I don't want to push her limits. I told you. She must feel comfortable rather than obligated to perform a duty._

Tersa seemed aware of a conversation occurring beyond her reach, and sat silently, continuing to eat the fruit thoughtfully.

Andulvar stretched his wings agitatedly. _And I don't want to remind you, SaDiablo, but I must. How long are you planning to keep her from your bed? She will soon begin to question her use here, she already has. Secure her position and secure your heritage._

Saetan frowned and studied the designs at the arm of the couch, choosing to remain silent.

_She doesn't deserve the suspicion and distaste of anyone. And the longer she remains here with no visible result, the more people will talk about what her place here must be. Does she deserve that?_ Andulvar added.

Saetan shook with anger, remembering the insulting Hayllian woman who had been a guest at the Hall a month ago. "Of course she doesn't," he hissed.

Tersa jumped at the sudden exclamation, which to her, was seemingly out of nowhere.

Andulvar eased the atmosphere of the room by suggesting they go back to the Hall for dinner, and once more engaging Tersa in conversation, this time about Mrs. Beale's many culinary delights and her generous portions for those with appetite's large as his own.

Saetan let himself be led into the carriage and lost himself in thought on the way back to the Hall. They couldn't catch the winds as it would be an uncomfortable experience for Tersa to ride winds of any jewel rank at all.

All throughout dinner the conversation was carried by Andulvar, with the regular questions or additions of Tersa. Saetan remained silent and preoccupied, in particular with what Andulvar had said. It wasn't that he didn't want to sleep with Tersa; he was a man in his prime after all, and Tersa an attractive woman- it was not that at all. He just couldn't abandon the anxiety of whether she would feel simply like a tool, an instrument. A body to use for nine months, and nothing more.

When Hekatah was expecting Mephis, she would remind him of every moment of weariness or discomfort, almost in an accusatory way. The more she'd nag and subtly threat, the more Saetan would lavishly meet all her expenses out of worry for his unborn child. He wasn't used to a woman so willingly and selflessly presenting herself in this way.

He had not liked the idea of simply picking a strong witch just to bear his heir. But time had run short, alliances had been broken, and Saetan had been advised from all sides to name his heir and secure his heritage now, at the height of his power.

And now, with that healthy, powerful witch, who was not only full of other great qualities but also willing to bed the most dangerous and influential man to have walked the realms, here Saetan was- wavering, hesitating.

All throughout these thoughts, a part of him was still present at the dinner table, and was making low sounds of agreement or interest whenever he was directly addressed.

But always his eyes were on Tersa; the way her mouth softened, how her irises glittered ancient gold, how inviting the paleness of her delicate neck looked... Saetan ran his nails slightly on the wood surface of the table.

Andulvar's voice, pointedly raised in volume, brought him back to the present. "Well, I think I'll retire for tonight, SaDiablo. I have to talk to the weapon-master tomorrow morning. The man doesn't seem to understand that all I need from him is some tools, as I prefer to make my own weapons," Andulvar wrinkled his nose. "Human craft. Fancy, certainly, but whether it's practical or suitable for Eyrien use is questionable indeed..."

"Goodnight, Andulvar," Saetan said firmly. The Warlord could go on about the inadequacies of non-Eyrien weaponry for a considerably long time.

Saetan had felt a shift somewhere in him tonight, one that had no connection to the 'urgency' of securing an heir that Andulvar had warned him about earlier. No, this was different. He felt a sort of subtle hunger he hadn't felt for a while, one much stronger and gentler than pure desire. The sight of Tersa's eyes glittering in the candlelight and her lips curling into a friendly smile, as she bid Andulvar goodnight, was certainly not helping.

Decades later, it seemed to Saetan, he and Tersa finally retired to their bedroom. Saetan was far from tired, and even Tersa seemed too alert to want to go to bed. He thought this a little odd, as she usually preferred sitting in his study, having some wine, and talking until she felt sleepy enough to climb the last staircase and go to bed. She never came to the bedroom until she needed to.

Then she must have sensed it too, Saetan thought. And she looked completely at ease. Why had it taken him this long, this many excuses, until he could detect this mutual understanding? Then a new thought occurred to him.

Perhaps, it had taken him this long to trust _himself_ with her. He had constantly used her health and well-being as an excuse. While all along it really was whether he trusted himself to erase whatever horrors her last sexual experience had left her with.

But seeing her there; one of the simpler dresses hugging her curves, her pale shoulders alluringly soft, her eyes weaving right through his mind, her hair untamable... self-doubt and questioning fled, leaving in it's place the exquisite lover kept within the strategic, powerful man.

He took a step towards her.


	6. Chapter 6

The light was dim enough to plunge the corners of the room into utter darkness, but bright enough to set her skin glowing. She sat on the edge of the large bed, her hair swept aside to expose her neck and back. Saetan deftly and silently undid her final garment, a simple corset, and she would shiver slightly when his fingers brushed against her skin in the process.

It came loose and he laid it aside, leaving her unclothed. The room wasn't warm yet but Tersa didn't seem to feel cold; although she was looking slightly self-conscious. Saetan noticed he was still fully clothed in his layers of black, and swiftly undressed to ease her intimidation.

The bed covers were of the finest velvet, heavy and soft. But they could have been the most crude, home-spun material, in contrast to her skin. As they lay back, Saetan traced her entire body with his hands, caressing with the softest yet most possessive caresses Tersa had ever felt. How could the man embody such contrasting characteristics?

His hand paused somewhere above her hips. Then a finger traced delicately the scars, the scars that had healed long ago but not quite in the correct way, leaving odd-shaped, jagged pale lines in it's stead.

It was even darker lying back on the bed, as the drapes blocked more of the light, but Tersa looked up to where she could make out his face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Saetan's lips softly smiling lips descended upon them to silence her.

When she kissed him back in earnest, that was confirmation enough for his unasked questions. And so he showed her exactly what a former Consort to Witch could do.

* * *

Tersa opened her eyes unhurriedly, enjoying the simple pleasure of feeling the rippling velvet around her, warmed by her own body heat. A crisp current of cool, fresh air fluttered against her face, and that woke her a little more effectively.

She knew she was alone in the large bed; Saetan always awoke before her to see to some official affairs regarding Dhemlan Kaeleer or Dhemlan Terreille. Tersa had understood much of his routine now; he preffered taking care of these issues during the day so he could have the evening to attend meetings of the Hourglass coven, if any, or persue other things in relation to his position as a Black Widow, such as prepare intricate and essential poisons or weave dream webs.

Tersa would watch him do so sometimes, feeling a dull, disconnected ache of longing when he spun webs she couldn't anymore; not since losing the Red.

That morning she woke and she knew. It had been a full moon since the night he had first bedded her. They had made love nearly every night since, and now, this instant, this morning, she knew. His seed had taken hold. Tersa lay a hand on her stomach and looked up at the drapery above the bed.

She felt a deep sorrow within. Sorrow for the son she knew she was now sheltering within her. Sorrow for what was to befall him, what cruelties he would endure and perform. But there was also joy. For she knew, she knew that salvation would come; it would come through the very same source it would come to Saetan; through the one they would call Dreams Made Flesh. Like father, like son.

He and he alone would be Saetan's true heir. _The father, the brother, the lover. The lover is the father's mirror..._

Tersa felt herself slipping into herself. It was an odd sensation, and without her jewels to hold on to she kept falling softly, falling into that abyss, trying to hold onto the Birthright Green web that should be there, then to the Red that should be there... but there was nothing there...

The sound of the bedroom door opening pulled her back up and out of the abyss. It was an uncomfortably fast and fragile ascent, but when she heard Saetan's steady, deep voice, Tersa felt better rooted to the physical.

"Good morning." In a swish of black he was standing by the bed. He smiled slightly down at her, and gently stroked her face with the back of his black-nailed hand.

Tersa smiled up at him return. As Saetan noticed her hand, still resting on her stomach, he raised a questioning eyebrow. Tersa nodded, looking more solemn that a would-be mother would.

Fondness and relief glittered within Saetan's golden eyes, a warm, molten gold now, and he swiftly bent down to give her a lingering kiss.

But when he pulled back, Tersa caught a glimpse of a sorrow that differed completely from her own on Saetan's face. It was deeply etched and deeply felt, one that stemmed from past memory, not from the weight of glimpsing future pain.

The sorrow was from a previous time, a previous woman, a previous child. For the first time, Tersa felt a genuine surge of fear and sympathy as she looked at the man before her, the man who had wiped out an entire civilization to avenge the cruel fate that had befell one innocent babe.


	7. Chapter 7

Saetan drained the wine in the glass before setting it back on the blackwood desk. He smiled affectionately to himself as he gazed out the window of his study, down at Tersa who was releasing her rose bush from some weeds in the garden below. She was moving slowly at eight months now, but still surprisingly easily and without fuss. Her pregnancy couldn't have passed any more different to Hekatah's.

Saetan had enjoyed the last few months immensely, relishing in the kind of contentment and intimacy during a pregnancy that could only come from a woman as selfless and wise as Tersa. Never had he truly feared for the life of his unborn son or his mother, except for the usual nerves of a soon-to-be father. He knew Tersa would never do anything to endanger either of their lives, and this thought was a comfort Saetan had never felt when awaiting the delivery of Mephis or Peyton.

Saetan turned away from the window and his smile turned into a grimace when he spotted the letter, hastily opened and read, awaiting him on his desk. It had arrived the day before, and for once, Saetan had deliberately delayed replying; not a wise move for a man, as it was a letter from the Hourglass coven. But then again, no other man was the High Priest, and was entitled to delaying as he was. At least, that's what he told himself. _But somehow the coven always gets their way anyway_, he thought amusedly.

His mood deteriorated yet again as he re-scanned the elaborate writing on the page. It was a formal query requesting him to see a promising young Black Widow through her Virgin Night. Dorothea was on the warpath, cleansing Hayll of dark-jeweled potential rivals, so Saetan guessed the reason for the urgency of the letter was that this young Black Widow fell precisely into the requirements for Dorothea's targets.

He sat back on his winged chair, tapping one black-nailed finger on the letter as he considered the request yet again. He had performed the ceremony countless times before, and honored the rules of that ceremony. Although no one could force him to do this, he still felt like he had a certain obligation to fulfill, especially for a fellow member, whether apprentice or full-fledged widow, of the Hourglass.

Saetan ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to sort through the emotions that were preventing him from agreeing to the request. It just didn't feel right, at a time like this. Not when he was about to have another son, and his true heir, in his arms any day now. And what of Tersa? How would she feel about this?

Sighing, Saetan stood up and straightened his collar, then reached for the door. In the highly polished black wood surface, his gold eyes betrayed annoyance and discontentment. Many a wise men had turned fearful when faced with that gaze, even when the emotions directed through them were so mild. For a moment Saetan tried to readjust his expression, but then stopped. Nearly a year with Tersa had taught him that trying to hide his emotions from her was about as successful as Andulvar trying to appreciate intricate, non-Eyrien house furnishings; _not much._

So he tore his gaze away from his own and headed downstairs towards the garden , going through the letter in his head. Oddly, the woman's race hadn't been mentioned, but Saetan shrugged and presumed it to be Hayllian.

* * *

Tersa hummed softly to herself and brushed her long, wild black hair out of her face. The wind kept blowing it all over the place, and she didn't want it tangling around a delicate rose and breaking it's stem as she bent down.

She knew Saetan was watching her work. She could, faintly but surely, feel the dark power of the red emanating from the archway up ahead at which she suspected he was leaning against. And underneath it, a cleaner, darker, fierce power which she suspected was just a glimpse of the black. But it was gone the next moment, far, far, below and out of her reach in the abyss.

"Your energy never ceases to amaze me, Lady."

Tersa smiled softly at the deep, deliciously masculine and now faintly amused voice that was Saetan's, but didn't look up.

"I'm simply pregnant, High Lord, not in any way disabled," she answered, playing along. But then her smile turned bittersweet and she straightened up, walking towards the handsome man leaning against the stone archway that opened to the garden.

She held out a deep yellow rose with a long stem. He accepted it, keeping the snake tooth beneath his nail withdrawn, and entwined his other arm around Tersa's waist, pulling her close. "What is it?" She asked softly, for she knew for certain something had to be said, which didn't want to be said.

Saetan looked at her oddly for a moment, then brushed the rose lightly against his lips, lost in thought. Tersa stood silently in his grasp. His hands stroked her back soothingly, then turned away from the garden.

"Shall we go back inside? I'll send for some refreshments," he said in a quiet, deep voice, handing her the rose and offering his arm as Tersa slowly walked into the warmth of one of the less formal, cosy receiving rooms for more well-aquainted guests.

She settled herself carefully in a comfortable armchair, and handed the rose over to the butler who set a tray of tea in front of her. Tersa wrinkled her nose at the aroma she usually loved but couldn't quite stomach at the moment, but said nothing and waited for Saetan to speak.

"I received a request from the coven a few days ago," he began unhurriedly, leaning back in an armchair opposite Tersa. The casualness of the posture contrasted sharply with the way his elegant hands were tense, giving an impression of a well-contained yet nonetheless deadly predator.

"A request to see a promising apprentice to the Hourglass through her Virgin Night," Saetan concluded and paused for the words to be considered.

Tersa's gaze betrayed no reaction, but her eyes gained a distant look. "She will be destroyed otherwise. Is that not so?"

Saetan cleared his throat. "It was... hinted at. I will accept this request out of duty, but I wanted to... inform you of it first."

"You will be saving a Sister, Prince. An acceptance out of duty it may be, but an important duty it is nonetheless."

Saetan eyes carried an understanding deeper than the literal. "Ofcourse. Well, that's... settled then."

Tersa nodded and reached for her tea. "Who is she?"

"Her name is Luthvian."

"An Eyrien name."

Saetan nodded. "Yes, but she is Hayllian, I believe. A coincidence or a distant connection to a diluted bloodline."

Tersa smiled softly, knowingly to herself. "Indeed?" She added a teaspoon of sugar and stirred. "If that is so, then you must make your decision quickly. She... she shouldn't endure anything that could have been avoided." Tersa's voice sounded hollow but the hand holding the teacup was steady.

Saetan felt the accustomed flash of anger at Tersa's past fate, but tried to contain it. "She certainly shouldn't. I'll contact the Hourglass and let them know of my acceptance. It just seemed appropriate to consult you first." He inclined his head slightly and stood up in one graceful movement.

Tersa watched him leave through tired, wise golden eyes. "Ah, Saetan..." she breathed as she leaned back and rested a hand on her belly. He had been so accommodating and careful throughout her pregnancy, so much so that often he seemed overly cautious, even prepared for tantrums and threats on her part. All of his children had been used as a form of blackmail against him, so Tersa hadn't once questioned his highly careful behaviour.

But as she closed her eyes and listened to the wind picking up it's pace outside the Hall, Tersa felt a deep sadness for the honorable man so many feared. For someone who adored women as much as Saetan did, fate had sent the worst kind of women his way in the past. He deserved so much, and yet he was so alone.

The kind of bond he would have with the daughter of his soul would be strong- very strong. But it wasn't the same as the kind of bond he longed to have with a woman who cared for him, who didn't fear his power or temper.

Tersa sighed and slowly lifted herself out of the armchair, intending to rest until dinner. She knew her presence and contribution to his happiness was a significant one, and they would both look back on it fondly. But it wasn't what he longed for, and they both knew this. Often it seemed to Tersa, especially after one of her moments of slipping through her inner landscape, that she was incapable of giving more than what she already was to Saetan. Companionship. Compassion. An heir. But nothing more. Guidance, when the Dreams became Flesh. But no more.

More often than before, Tersa would feel herself slipping further everytime she withdrew, taking a little longer to return to physical reality. The fear that should have accompanied the knowledge that she was slowly entering the Twisted Kingdom wasn't there. Because she knew the child would come safely before her mind slipped fully out of it's holds.


	8. Chapter 8

Saetan dropped from the Black winds near the outskirts of Draega as twilight was descending. It had been a week since he had sought Tersa's approval of doing what he was about to do. As much as he knew she was a very different woman to the ones who had entered his life before, he couldn't help but marvel slightly at her utter selflessness. Hekatah would have created total and utter turmoil at the thought of his bedding another witch, though it may be simply out of duty. But Tersa understood the danger Dorothea's men were to strong witches, and was not only consenting to what he had to do but actually encouraging.

So then why was there a bitter taste in his mouth, a reluctance to perform his duty as High Priest? Saetan picked up his pace, walking swiftly and silently towards the carriage waiting for him that would take him on the lighter winds to the cottage which the Hourglass had arranged for Luthvian's concealment.

As Saetan felt the familiar lurch of the carriage, he leaned back in his seat and rested his chin on a his hand. Sunlight from the carriage windows glittered on his jeweled rings, rings which gave away his unique positions and exuded power. Saetan hestitated a moment, then reached for his index finger and slipped off the intricate silver ring which signified his status as High Lord of Hell. He vanished it and considered for a moment, then left the ones which symbolised the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and High Priest on his fingers. Those titles he could openly display, but not many knew of him as High Lord. And if staying ignorant would lessen the woman's fear of him, then there was no need to mention it.

As the carriage came to a halt, Saetan descended and headed for the cottage. The soft twilight had given way to a darker blue and the last faint pink hues of the sunset were disappearing. There wasn't much picturesque about the cottage itself; it was obviously meant to be an inconspicuous and plain as possible. However, the sapphire and red shields he glided through with ease before he could reach the front door said otherwise about the purpose of the location.

He had meant to knock softly, but the two sharp taps sounded authoritative and severe out of habit. A Summer Sky-Jeweled apprentice of the Hourglass coven opened the door quietly, and Saetan inclined his head out of courtesy.

"Welcome, High Priest. I've been instructed to take to to the Lady's rooms," she said tensely, taking in Saetan's Red-Jeweled pendant and his step over the threshold in that swish of expensive black material.

Saetan gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile to ease her nerves, but it had the opposite affect. Getting more annoyed by the minute, he tried conversation.

"And have you been long in the Hourglass Coven, Lady?" he asked as they went down a narrow corridor.

"Five years, High Priest. Lady Luthvian took a special interest in my apprenticeship a year ago, and I have been in her service since." She led him through heavy wooden doors and gestured inward with a small bow. "I will be here if yourself or the Lady require anything."

"Thank you," Saetan answered as she retreated and close the door behind her. The he turned to face the young woman who was seated precariously on the end of the large, four-poster bed, a strained and determined expression on her olive-skinned face and dark gold eyes. She had a single white streak in her otherwise pitch-black hair.

"Lady Luthvian," Saetan said, his voice slipping easily into that deep timbre which had the ability to reach in and undo a woman from within. The more he could softly seduce her, the easier this would be for the both of them.

"Warlord," she replied, her voice strained with the effort of keeping it steady. "T-thank you for answering the Hourglass at this time of my need." She had a nervousness about her, an instability that Saetan found he disliked after so long in Tersa's calm, reassuring presence.

Saetan reached for the silver fastenings of his cape and took it off, setting it silently on the back of a chair in one movement. Luthvian gaze betrayed a small measure of lust. But it was quickly veiled by anxiety.

"It is my duty, Lady Luthvian- and please call be Saetan. Shall we?" Saetan gestured towards the chairs near the fireplace, on which a bowl of fruit and a decanter of the aphrodisiac brew, Night of Fire, rested; a traditional drink for the Virgin Night.

"You have taken the appropriate measures to prevent pregnancy?"

"Y-yes, ofcourse," she nodded, recovering quickly from his directness.

Luthvian stood up, keeping her hands firmly clasped together. Despite the nerves her walk betrayed, she watched as if in a trance as Saetan took a seat with fluid grace and reached a black-nailed hand for the decanter. He poured a glass for both of them, and warmed it under some witchfire. Luthvian sank into the chair opposite, her back painfully straight and the muscles of her neck taut. Saetan kept his movements relaxed, reaching for a piece of fruit and taking a leisurely bite as if they had all the time in the world.

He had meant the gesture to be one of assurance. Instead Luthvian's knuckles were white from wringing her hands tighter, and she licked her dry lips. Her gaze followed the fruit to Saetan's lips, lingered, then fell to the Black jewel around his neck, the tip visible beneath his black shirt. Boldly, and to Saetan's slight surprise, her gaze travelled lower. When she looked back up there was a desperation in her eyes that Saetan couldn't fully place- was it out of lust, or out of fear of being broken? A troubled young woman. Certainly.

Saetan removed the glasses from the withfire and held one out towards her. With difficulty, she untangled one hand from the other and reached for it. As she took it, he deliberately let his fingertips touch hers and the nails run along them slightly, possessively. Her breathing hitched in her throat and she immediately brought the glass to her lips before she could cough, and hastily took a large gulp, as if willing it to numb her.

Saetan took a few small sips, deciding he might as well enjoy the rare flavour which he hadn't had in years. In a few moments, the temperature of the room seemed slightly warmer, and a subtle tingling was going through his viens, as if his blood itself had warmed too. It was a pleasant sensation, one that firstly relaxed him. He glanced over in Luthvian's direction. Perhaps he should have warned her of the brew's nature. The large gulps she had taken in her anxiety had hit her immediately.

She looked drowsy at first. She licked her lips again. Her gaze was stripped of it's panic to leave the lust. In one movement, Saetan drained the small amount remaining in his glass. Slowly the relaxation turned to pleasant awareness, an awareness of the power in his body and the sensuality in hers.

His movements were almost lazy as he stood and leisurely closed the distance between them. It felt so obvious, no natural that they should make love. Distantly, Saetan recognised the effects of the brew, but in physical reality he was vanishing Luthvian's dress to expose the thin shift beneath. Her breathing was laboured as she backed up against the bed. Saetan lay her on it carefully, and she stiffened slightly in renewed fear at the vulnerable position.

"Relax..." Saetan said silkily as he leaned over her in the bed. "Relax." She sighed and arched up against him. He traced a black-nailed finger down the contours of her jaw and down to her collarbone. It tore the flimsy material of her shift down to her waist. With trembling hands, she pulled it down her shoulders.

The fire was dying down. As he vanished both of their remaining clothes, his red jewel restored the original height of the flames in a ripple of mild power. He positioned himself between her, but she immediately stiffened. He didn't move. With slow, deliberately seducing kisses, from her lips to her stomach, he made her shiver, torn between desire and panic. Eventually she relaxed, but Saetan still didn't move.

Instead he let her as she slowly, tentatively reached up and ran her hands up his chest to his wide shoulders, caressing the muscles beneath her hands shyly. The movement would have had no effect on him had they not been intoxicated by the aphrodisiac. In fact, if she had dared touch him that way in any other circumstance, he would have had those tiny wrists in an iron grip and a threat in his tone. Some of that sentiment must have shown in his eyes, for hers widened for a moment and the caresses stopped in slight fear.

Saetan mentally kicked himself for that momentary lapse. He couldn't afford to have her terrified. A frightened witch was a broken witch on this night. But to his surprise, though the slight fear remained in Luthvian's eyes, he could feel her warmth, and her body was quivering with anticipation, longing, aroused to the breaking point. Fear on a Virgin Night, Saetan was used to. But arousal due to fear? A troubled young woman indeed. A witch couldn't afford to feel desire through danger in this realm. For the two were often inextricably linked, and with dire consequences.

As he pushed forward in one fluid stroke, his lips came down on hers in a highly distracting kiss. She let out muffled gasps of pain, which eventually turned to mews of pleasure as he took them both to the moment of delirium and back.

After a few moments regaining composure, and mentally reaching out to check that both her inner web and jewels were intact, Saetan rose from the bed and called in his clothes. The brew was thrumming quietly through his viens now, less in potency but leaving a calming feeling of satisfaction in it's wake.

Luthvian pulled the covers over herself, and watched him with traces of desire in her eyes. Her chest rose and fell steadier, the blush was leaving her olive skin.

She said nothing, so neither did he. As he fastened the final button of his shirt and strode to the chair to pick up his cape, he heard her tentative voice; "Thank you... Saetan."

Her tone softened when she said his name, and Saetan frowned inwardly at what that could foreshadow. But his face remained one of cold elegance as he inclined his head and pulled on his cape.

"You need not fear any longer, Lady," he answered, and left the room, striding down the corridor swiflty and barely sparing the apprentice witch a moment's glance as she opened the front door for him. He suddenly longed more than anything for the calm, warm embrace of Tersa.


	9. Chapter 9

Enjoying the warmth of the evening breeze on her skin, Tersa leaned back onto the carriage as the driver loaded the last of her shopping bags. It was a relatively quiet twilight in Raida. _Well,_ Tersa mused with a suppressed smile,_ it would be a quiet one if Andulvar wasn't bargaining heatedly with an Eyrien shop owner over that sturdily built bow._

He stretched her aching back as the shop owner finally gave in and Andulvar strode over to her side with a satisfied grin, holding a bow that looked like it weighed as much as he did.

Tersa smiled amusedly, but it turned out more to be a grimace. Her back was really killing her today, more than usual. Andulvar noted this with a Warlords unfallibly sensitivity to females, and without further delay she was helped into the carriage and made comfortable.

Andulvar barked orders at the driver; "Back to the Hall. Keep to no wind darker than the Rose."

"But my Lord, it'll take us at least an hour to get back if we don't take the Green or Gray-"

"Are you employed to argue with me or to take me where I want to go?" Andulvar said heatedly. "I say light winds, you stick to light winds."

"Yes my Lord." The driver dove into the seat and the carriage jerked to a start, in the direction of a Yellow phsycic wind.

"How does Saetan manage to avoid your temper, Warlord?" Tersa asked, leaning back momentarily as the pain eased.

"Oh, he doesn't," Andulvar answered cheerfully, adjusting his wings. Tersa laughed as the carriage entered the Yellow wind and was swept away towards the Hall.

-

It was almost exactly midnight when her birth pains started. But rather than Tersa's moans of pain announcing the start of them, it was rather Saetan's thundery voice booming throughout the Hall, ordering the servants to contact their Healer, bring refreshments, open the windows to let in fresh air...

Indeed, Tersa's discomfort wasn't half as bad as all this activity was hinting it out to be. Although after a couple of hours, she could hardly say the same. Saetan was at her side, providing a hand for her to squeeze when she needed to. He snapped at anyone who entered the bedroom, even the Healer, to whom he did nothing less than a thorough cross-examination before she could assure him that yes, she had done this countless times before, and yes, she had already done every trick in the book to lessen her pain.

Tersa was slipping in and out of the Twisted Kingdom. Pain had always been a factor that pushed her there. But this time, with every drop of strength, every inch of her being, she fought to stay away from that misty inner border- to stay in the present, to feel the sweat on her brow and see the look of fierce encouragement in Saetan's golden eyes.

Finally, the heir of the Prince of the Darkness, the High Lord of Hell, was born. It was a relatively uncomplicated and easy birth, physically. But mentally, Tersa was utterly exhausted. As she looked at the tiny bundle in her arms, a healthy boy with his parents' colouring, she closed her eyes and sighed with the effort it had taken her to remain out of her inner abyss. Saetan gently took the child out of his exhausted mother's arms with a sense of sadness. It would be the only time she could hold her babe in her arms, as broken witches could only concieve once. Yet she was too tired trying to remain out of the Twisted Kingdom to even enjoy a moment of the feeling. Quietly Saetan left Tersa to rest, ordering the curtains to be drawn and the fire to be rekindled.

The Healer came up to Saetan. "My Lord, he needs to be fed."

Saetan nodded. "Call the wet nurse. The Lady needs to rest."

Reluctantly, he parted from his forth, yet no less dear, son; Daemon SaDiablo, as the little dark-haired bundle was carried away to the plump breast of the wet nurse, Manny.

Then he walked to his study, and with a quick gaze at the red glow of the rising sun outside, collapsed onto his couch and fell into a dreamless sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Saetan was awoken by the shrill wail of a two year old. Too comfortable in the warm, dark bedroom, inhaling the musty smell the hanging draperies created, Saetan couldn´t muster the energy to get up, as he often did, to attend to his son. A few seconds later he heard the comforting coos of Manny the wetnurse in the adjacent room and rolled onto his back to get to sleep.

He felt a stab of guilt permeate his thoughts, however, and it wouldn´t go away. The first year was quite a happy time, and he was more than happy to get up in the middle of the night to soothe the baby. Sometimes, if Tersa, peaceful next to him, also found she couldn´t get much sleep they would make love, without the worry of an accidental conception. But as Daemon´s first birthday had drawn to a close, those nights got less and less frequent until they ceased completely. Tersa was slipping further and further into herself, until the moments where Saetan saw that strong, red-jewelled witch emerge were pitifully infrequent. It hurt him every day to see it, but even as a Black Widow he couldn´t do anything when she kept refusing help. She kept saying that she had to let herself go. That the Twisted Kingdom was beckoning. That she had to be the messenger.

The more time had passed, the more cryptic her words had become. She kept saying she had to be the messenger, the announcer of when She came. Something in her eyes when she said it made Saetan sure this was no ordinary "she."

Saetan sighed as, naturally, his chronological recounting brought him to the point when Tersa´s speech became disjointed and difficult to express. She had looked at him with such wisdom, such understanding when she asked him to let her go. So he had. She had settled into her own cottage, with a helper, both of which Saetan had purchased.

He had only begun to be able to sleep in that empty bed last month.

Sometimes at night he would let Daemon cry for a minute more than necessary before he arrived to hush him, just to feel that he still had this precious thing with him, under his roof, adding joy to his days.

Throwing the covers off himself, Saetan stood up. Sleep had eluded him yet again. He walked to stand at the window, noticing from the faint purplish haze on the horizon that it was still an hour or so until dawn. Slipping on a black shirt over his naked torso he sat at his desk, preoccupied.

It took him longer than usual to realize something was… not right.

There was a smell in the room which wasn´t supposed to be there. Then he noticed the thin, black envelope on his desk which hadn´t been there yesterday. The seal on the cover was of the Hourglass Coven.

_How could I have missed this…_ Saetan chastised himself. He knew his killing edge and reflexes were at their prime and they could never be dulled; it was in a Warlord Prince´s blood. _But still, something isn´t right if I didn´t notice this, _he thought._ Full nights of sleep should be paying off._

Reluctantly he broke the seal. His strong, dark brows lowered into a gaze that could have burned right through the paper.

_**Prince Saetan SaDiablo, High Priest of the Hourglass:**_

_**A Black Widow sister of the Hourglass Coven urgently requires your presense at her home tomorrow evening at dusk. Enclosed is the message she requested we include within this official correspondance.**_

_**Sincerely,**_

_**The Sisters of the Hourglass**_

Saetan felt anger stir within him. "Required"? "Official correspondance?" Saetan was well-versed in Blood protocol and the subtle tone of this letter was too commandeering to be tolerated. He leashed his distaste and continued to read the enclosed letter.

_**Saetan, **_

_**I know it's been a while, and I doubt you even remember me, but there are some things that I cannot keep from you any longer. Please come tomorrow so we can talk.**_

_**Luthvian**_

Although still seething at the abrupt letters that disregarded protocol in so many ways, Saetan excused Luthvian because of the urgent tone of her letter. He couldn't imagine what that troubled young Black Widow would want with him, especially after more than a year of no contact.

He finally stood and rubbed his temples, stripping and lying back down on the bed as a faint tinge of red ringed the horizon. His head was pounding, out of an odd mixture of melancholy, exhaustion, irritation and distaste. Couldn't he be left alone to raise his son and mourn his lost partner? There was always some buisness with Dhemlan to conclude, a dispute in Hell to settle, a dozen parties and none-too-subtle invitations from Territory Queens to turn down. And now, this.

Saetan was on the cusp of sleep when a jarring realisation chased rest away for another hour. Through the infallible Warlord instinct, he knew. Luthvian had lied to him.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Saetan arrived by carriage at Luthvian's cottage, dropping from the Purple Dusk winds. He stepped out fluidly, lifting his heavy black cape clear of the carriage door and straightening to his full height. The demanding tone of the letter had annoyed him, particularly when he had re-read it the next morning with a clear head. There had been an underlying superiority, a lack of recognition of his rank in the wording.

So for this meeting he had decked himself out in his formal clothing as High Priest. The Hourglass may chose to disregard his High Lordship of Hell, his leadership of Dhemlan and his jewel rank - but no one who beheld Saetan now could deny he was of their coven.

He walked down the short path that led to the cottage door. The first two buttons of the pristine black shirt were open, revealing a glimpse of the taut, smooth skin at his throat, as well as a glimpse of a black jewel on a chain. A second chain hung from his neck, but this one outside his shirt, which held the symbol of the coven, bejewelled to represented his rank as High Priest.

The perfectly tailored pair of black trousers, and the black coat with the Hourglass symbol stitched in gold on the sleeve, he had had his manservant find in his closet for the first time in the Darkness knew how many years. A ring with a Black jewel and another with his Birthright Red glinted on his black-nailed fingers.

A Tiger-Eye jewelled Healer opened the cottage door, and was struck dumb momentarily.

"I am here upon Lady Luthvian's _summons._" Saetan couldn't hide the soft thunder in his voice, try as he might.

"Follow me, please, H-High Priest."

Saetan stooped slightly to enter through the door, then followed her down the corridor, wondering why Luthvian was living with a Healer instead of a servant or apprentice. Then a particular scent hit his finely-honed Warlord Prince senses. This woman was lactating. Saetan reasoned that probably she had recently had a baby of her own but had to return to Healing work soon after.

As he turned the corner to step into the room the Healer gestured to, ready to reflect his annoyance onto Luthvian, all thoughts flew from his mind.

She looked up in fearful uncertainty from the simple, wooden cradle she had been leaning down towards. Her features were as they were when he last saw them, though her expression was strained. Her dark hair with its white streak was tumbling downwards, and a small strand was being clasped playfully by a tiny hand that extended upwards from the cradle.

She winced slightly as the little hand didn't let go of her hair when she attempted to straighten. Prying it gently from the baby's grasp, Luthvian finally turned to face the full brunt of Saetan's facial expression.

Anger at her deception was prominent in his gaze. Saetan knew, the moment he was aware of the baby's presence, that it was his. The hint of his own psychic scent in the child was unmistakable. So was the slight smugness, the sense of expectation, which he was picking up from the mother.

"Saetan, I - "

"_Luthvian,_" Saetan's low voice struck through the room like a whip of velvet, cutting her off. "I do not appreciate being lied to."

"I never - "

"Oh but you did. You told me you had taken the necessary precautions."

"I _had -_ "

"_Luthvian,_" Saetan's voice became considerably more softer and more terrifying in tone. "You're doing it again."

She swallowed visibly and perched on the edge of the bed, like twitchy prey that nevertheless hopes to evade its predator by pretending defeat.

"Saetan, I was scared. You - you don't know what it was like for me, on the run and hunted by Dorothea's butchers... I didn't... I didn't think - "

"Precisely. You didn't think. You didn't think of me, and most importantly of all you didn't think of this child." He gestured towards the cradle, from which an odd flapping sound was coming. Like curtains _whooshing_ in the wind. Saetan's anger was dispelled slightly by surprise. He took a step towards the cradle to see.

Luthvian practically flung herself in front of it, blocking Saetan's path. Her expression was a mixture of fear and shame. "You're right, Saetan, I - I should've..." she began a hurried apology as a distraction, but was silenced completely by Saetan's gaze.

"Stand aside, Luthvian. I want to see my child." Whatever it was in that voice made her recoil. She reluctantly stepped aside to let him pass.

Saetan looked down to see a baby, more or less one year old, with the Hayllian colouring of brown skin, dark hair, and golden eyes. But he had wings. Small, perfect Eyrien wings. Though he was too young to take flight, he was nevertheless beating them enthusiastically, looking up at Saetan with a curious interest.

Saetan's annoyance, anger, and distaste towards Luthvian melted away, only to leave the inexplicably fierce need to love, cherish, protect him. Watch him walk unsteadily. See his face as he first manages to carry his own weight with his wings. Swell with pride at his Birthright ceremony. Be a part of his life.

Luthvian, after waiting in silence for a few moments, shakily spoke. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I didn't know. I didn't know it would skip a generation... the _things_... they're... I didn't think I had enough Eyrien blood to..."

"Why, Lady, are you apologising to me for his heritage?"

"Those... those _things_..."

"They are called wings."

Luthvian winced slightly. "I - I don't want him growing up as one. He will have to leave us, he will have needs we cannot understand or accomodate..." her voice grew a little more determined. "I don't want a vulgar and rough child, as they all turn out to be at those Eyrien camps..."

Saetan simply looked at her. Her voice eventually trailed away, but there was an unmistakable hardness and determination in her eyes. "He... he looks Hayllian, doesn't he? Would look perfectly like you and I if it weren't for the wings..." she added.

Saetan's piercing gold eyes looked at her as if he could see right through her ambiguous words and into her mind. "If our son will be such a burden to you, _Lady,_ I will be more than happy to take him off your hands."

Luthvian's face had softened when Saetan had said "our son." She stood languidly, looking at Saetan with that smug expectation again. "Saetan... I was sorry to hear, last year, about Lady Tersa. I realise this last year may not have been easy for you... I was lonely too..."

She edged towards Saetan, in a way that was undeniably sexual. She stopped a hand span away from him, and looked up into his face. "I... I had no one but you ever since... Because I _wanted_ no one but you. I knew no man could make me feel as you made me feel." Her hand lifted to touch the side of his cheek. Saetan froze utterly.

"Could - could I not make you happy? Happier than a broken witch could ever make you? We could raise him together. We could be a family, Saetan, after we've taken care of those... those wings..." she was just about to stroke his cheek when Saetan swiftly grabbed both of her thin wrists in an iron grip and thrust her away from him. Luthvian wailed in protest.

"_'Take care'_ of his wings, Luthvian?" he said, his voice a shard of ice. "_'Family?' _You dare speak of family, of my happiness, of Tersa to me?" Luthvian was sobbing softly. He let her go with a push, swung his cape behind him and strode to the door.

Turning to face her angry, tear-streaked face from the doorway, he said, with eyes glazed and voice soft, "I will return in two days to collect my son. He will live with me at SaDiablo Hall until I can be sure his mother has rid herself of her illusions and can come visit him without triggering my temper."

"B- But-"

The room's temperature dropped. Saetan pierced Luthvian's eyes with his. "If you cut so much as a strand of his hair, believe me, I shall know." The threat that didn't need to be voiced hung in the air.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Saetan felt a warmth in his heart as he looked down into the bundle of energy in his arms. Lucivar. His son. Trying to keep his grip firm yet gentle to counter the jerks of the carriage, he firmly kept the finger with the poison nail out of his enthusiastic baby's reach.

He was returning from Luthvian's, having upheld his promise of returning in two days to take his son off her disdainful hands. She had tried to charm him to get her way, yet again – the violent threat of their last meeting having fed rather than quenched her deluded expectations.

Saetan had kept his temper leashed because she had yielded the boy and accepted the terms of her visitation rights promptly. Her saucy way of requesting he return to her cottage for "dinner and drinks later that night", however, had justified slamming the door in her face.

The carriage dropped from the Black winds onto the landing web at SaDiablo Hall. Andulvar's smug face overwhelmed his line of vision the moment the carriage door opened and Saetan stepped out carefully with the baby.

"About time we were no longer in the minority around here."

"Don't just stand - "

Suddenly, Lucivar flapped his wings excitedly to be out of the stuffy carriage, catching the edge of Saetan's silk cloak. A loud tear sounded as the wing ripped the material, amusing Lucivar enough to make him gurgle happily and grab hold of the Hourglass pendant around Saetan's neck at the same time.

"I suppose nothing I say will wipe the smirk off your face and get you to help me, will it?" Saetan asked, foot caught in the now too-loosely hanging cloak, neck stooped to prevent the pendant's chain snapping.

Andulvar's uncontrolled laughter trailed behind him as he saunteered back to the Hall.

* * *

The pale yellow of the fruity, traditional brew glinted in the crystal glass which Saetan raised into the air in request of silence. The pleasant buzz of conversation died as the room containing immediate friends, family and servants turned their heads to hear him speak.

"Thank you, everyone, for gathering here tonight," Saetan began, "in honour of my son's 2nd birthday."

Fond smiles all round. Saetan continued. "Although for us long-lived races, maturity is slow and birthdays are often rounded to the nearest ten - " appreciative chuckles – "this is a special evening for two reasons."

A slight chill filled the room as Saetan's eyes glazed over. "Firstly, the _woman_," he said, emphasising the latter word with a poisonous croon, "who is the mother of my son Lucivar, almost made a fatal mistake during her latest visit. A mistake that would've cost, at the least, _her_ life, and at worst, _his_ life."

Expressions turned grim, and Andulvar's questioning look held anger on his friend's behalf and slight hurt that Saetan hadn't shared this with them before.

"I walked in to the nursery to find Lucivar in her arms, a hand poised over his wings. A hand that held a knife, sight-shielded." Saetan's voice was laden with icy fury at the memory. "She wanted to cut them off out of her own twisted sense of shame."

The Warlord Princes in the room immediately got a glazed, sleepy look in their eyes, tempers riding the killing edge at the obscenity of Saetan's revelation. Andulvar and Prothvar let out low growls under their breath. Mephis's face got that pained look which Saetan had only once before seen; when his brother Peyton had walked out on them.

"Thank the Darkness, this tragedy was prevented, and my son is with us, whole and happy, ready to grow into the Eyrien prince I know he will be."

An easing of tension in the room as Manny's sniff of emotion sounded.

"Secondly, a special guest is with us tonight." Saetan's tone lightened considerably and filled with fondness. He gestured to the large armchair in which Tersa sat, holding a three-year-old Daemon on her lap with one arm and the Birthday boy, Lucivar, with the other.

Over the last month she had steadily been improving, having longer periods of lucidity until she could go for days without retreating inside herself. Saetan had convinced her that an extended stay at the Hall over Winsol would be welcomed by everyone, and the boys had worn each other out "decorating" her room to make it festive.

As he looked at the remarkable woman with the melancholy eyes, Saetan felt, with an inexplicable certainty, that these years of happiness wouldn't last. Yet he also knew he wanted her in his life, through the good and the bad.

"Tersa."

They raised their glasses.


End file.
